Page 12 of My Masked Savior
Morgan crawls onto the mattress, moving with a languid grace that makes my teeth clench. She settles against the pillows, one leg bent, the other stretched out. Her phone glows in her hand as she scrolls through something I can't see from this distance.
Then her free hand starts to wander.
Fingers trail down her throat, slow and absent-minded. Over her collarbone. Between her breasts, where that little clasp winks at me in the lamplight. Lower, skimming her stomach, tracing the edge of the lace.
My hand moves to my zipper without conscious thought, yanking it down. The other dips into my pocket, fingers closing around soft cotton—the panties I'd taken from her hamper when I broke into her apartment. Pale pink, nothing like the black lace she's wearing now, but they smell like her. Like that sweet, clean scent that's been driving me insane.
I free my cock with one hand while pressing the fabric to my face with the other, inhaling deeply through the mask. The cotton's soft against my nose, and underneath it—fuck—underneath it is all Morgan. The subtle musk of her, the laundry detergent she uses, something uniquely her that makes my cock throb harder.
Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of thoseblack panties.
"Christ," I breathe into the mask, the word muffled. "That's it, princess."
She shifts on the bed, phone forgotten on the comforter beside her. She’s using both hands now, one still working beneath the lace while the other cups her breast through the bra.
I wrap her stolen panties around my length, the soft cotton a poor substitute for what I really want but better than my bare palm. The fabric drags over the frenum piercing, the slight friction making me hiss through my teeth.
A growl builds in my chest, low and animalistic. "Touch yourself. Show me what you do when you think nobody's watching."
She can't hear me. Has no idea I'm out here in the frozen dark, cock in hand, watching her fingers move in slow circles. But I keep talking anyway, the words spilling out like a prayer.
"Bet you're wet already. Bet you're thinking about someone while you do it." My fist strokes once, twice, the pink cotton bunched around my shaft, my piercing catching on the fabric with each stroke. "Are you thinking about me, Morgan? About how my hands felt on you when I saved your life?"
Her back arches off the bed.
"That's it. Good girl." The endearment comes out thick, almost slurred. "Spread those legs wider. Let me see that pretty fucking hole I want to fuck."
As if she fucking hears my request, Morgan hooks her thumbs into the lace waistband and slides the panties down her thighs. The motion's unhurried, deliberate, like she's got all the time in the world. She kicks them off, lets them fall somewhere off the side of the bed, and then?—
Fuck.
She spreads her legs.
Not just open. Wide. One knee bent up toward her chest, the other stretched out, giving me a view that makes my vision blur at the edges.
"Jesus Christ," I rasp, my hand tightening around my cock through the cotton. Glancing down, I see the panties are already damp with precum, the fabric darkening where it leaks from the tip. "Look at you. Look at that perfect little pussy."
Her fingers dip between her legs, disappearing inside. Even through the window, I can see how wet she must be, the way her fingers slide in easily, the way her hips roll up to meet her own touch.
My breath comes faster, dampening the inside of the mask. "That's it, baby. Fuck yourself with those fingers. Pretend it's my cock stretching you open."
She adds another finger, her mouth falling open on what I imagine is a moan I'll never hear.
"You'd take me so well, wouldn't you?" The words pour out, filthy and unfiltered. "I'd make you scream my name while I pound into that tight little cunt. Make you beg for it."
Her pace increases, fingers pumping faster.
"Yeah, just like that. Harder." My fist flies over my length faster now. "I'd pin your wrists above your head, keep you right where I want you while I fuck you until you can't walk straight."
She's close. I can tell by the way her body tenses, the way her free hand grips the sheets.
"Come for me, princess. Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart."
My cock throbs in my hand, balls drawing up tight. I'm right there with her, balanced on the edge, ready to explodeall over the snow at my feet while I watch her touch herself in that little single bed.
Her body goes rigid, back bowing off the mattress. The orgasm rips through her, and even from out here, I can see how her thighs shake, how her fingers keep working her through it.
"That's my good girl," I groan. "Fuck, Morgan. Fucking perfect."
